In early 2024, a survey report released four pieces of data that drew global attention and discussion:
First, over half of Mongolian women have experienced domestic violence;
Second, in the past year, 17.3% of Mongolian women suffered physical violence from non-partners;
Third, 10.7% of Mongolian women experienced sexual abuse before the age of 15;
Lastly, more than 25% of Mongolian women believe that being beaten by their husbands is normal.
Over the past decade, Mongolia has often been associated with "environmental pollution, economic backwardness," yet the reality is that Mongolian society is extremely unbalanced in development, especially regarding women's social status.
In education and employment, women lag far behind men.
For instance, women earn only half of what men earn in the same positions.
So, why has Mongolia developed such a severely male-dominated social structure?
It wasn’t until visiting Mongolia's largest cemetery (located on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar) that the deep-rooted male dominance in Mongolian life, from birth to death, became clear.
When a Mongolian baby girl is born, there is no celebration, only a red cloth hung at the door, while for a baby boy, arrows are hung, and cows and sheep are slaughtered for a grand feast with gifts and congratulations from friends and family.
In the capital Ulaanbaatar, the junior high school enrollment rate for Mongolian girls is less than 70%, and in other towns, it is even below 50%.
Most adult Mongolian women marry according to their parents' wishes, and in towns outside Ulaanbaatar, the arranged marriage rate is as high as 80%.
Mongolian women do not have inheritance rights. Even if their husband dies unexpectedly, the estate does not go to the widow but to cousins.
Mongolian women rarely have memorial services or dedicated tombstones after death. They are often buried beside their husbands or fathers, with their names crudely carved on their husband’s or father’s tombstones.
Given such entrenched traditional views, it’s no surprise that more than half of Mongolian women experience domestic violence.
As a result, many Mongolian women prefer to live alone after divorce and are unwilling to remarry.
Low social status, coupled with unequal education and employment opportunities, leaves many young single Mongolian women struggling to make a living, which has given rise to the industry of sex work.
In the northern slopes of Ulaanbaatar, there is a place dubbed “Widow Village,” home to over two thousand young Mongolian women.
They stay in their yurts during the day, get up in the evening to put on makeup, and then descend into the bars, bathhouses, or KTV lounges at night, returning with clients in the early morning.
To distinguish themselves, their yurts are either small or sparsely situated.
Every Mongolian settling in Ulaanbaatar is allotted free land, but as the population increases, the land available becomes more remote.
Some prefer to sell their land at low prices to move to more prosperous areas, which suits the needs of these sex workers.
Nearly all construction materials in Mongolia must be imported from China or Russia, making building costs extremely high. Even a second-hand yurt costs nearly ten million tugriks (about $3000), which explains why these women congregate here.
With population loss, the price of land and yurts naturally drops.
According to UN Women, in 2006, Mongolia had 19,000 sex workers, most concentrated in saunas, bars, massage parlors, and other establishments, with 30% suffering from sexually transmitted diseases like syphilis, and 95 reported HIV cases (Mongolian government disclosures suggest there are many more).
After several crackdowns, Ulaanbaatar shut down dozens of saunas and massage parlors, forcing some sex workers onto the streets, where they can now be seen in major squares.
Bars, KTV lounges, and other high-end entertainment venues only hire young women, and some hotels also employ women to solicit customers at their entrances.
Agence France-Presse once reported that Mongolia has at least 20,000 sex workers. Due to fierce competition, their actual income is not high.
For example, in Ulaanbaatar, the going rate is only 20,000 tugriks (about $120).
In a bar, a Mongolian woman named Mingzhu told reporters she only works in winter because the low temperatures cause unemployment, and without income, she has to cover extra heating costs.
To ensure her family gets through the winter, she has to take on part-time work.
When asked if she had ever been arrested, she smiled and replied, “Every winter, I get arrested a few times. You either pay money or provide services.”
But the most chaotic places are the mines.
Mongolia has dozens of mines and over ten thousand informal mining sites, with more than 200,000 miners, most of whom are men.
To cater to this group, Mongolia has spawned two unique professions: “diesel girls” and “miner nurses.”
“Diesel girls” are sex workers who wait by the roadside for truck drivers. If drivers can’t afford to pay, they can trade diesel instead.
These drivers mostly work for the Australian-invested Oyu Tolgoi gold-copper mine, earning a fixed monthly salary (about $350-450), and the diesel traded is from their Australian employer, which has given “diesel girls” their name.
“Miner nurses” are Mongolian female workers at the mines. They earn less than half of a driver’s monthly salary from hard labor and have to work part-time at night, serving miners, usually charging 10,000-20,000 tugriks per hour.
In 2018, the Mongolian government conducted a thorough investigation and found that at least 30% of the Mongolian women working at the Australian mines had either previously or were currently engaged in sex work.
It’s hard to imagine the distorted state of contemporary Mongolian society without experiencing it firsthand, especially when compared to Inner Mongolia, which seems like heaven in contrast.
And all of this is the result of the choices made by the Mongolian people themselves.
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